


toxic

by lucigucci



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucigucci/pseuds/lucigucci
Summary: (toxic by 2WEI)Dr. Devorak is aware of the blush creeping up into his face, and he’s also aware of the new hunger alight in Asra’s eyes. “Er. I, uh, I can’t. The– the C-count–”“You’re blushing again.”“Asra–”“Please,” Asra moans, and Dr. Devorak’s heartbeat increases tenfold in the span of a few seconds. “Tell me your name, and I’ll whisper it back to you as sweet as a lover. I could make you feel so very loved, Doctor, if only you gave me your name.”He can’t breathe. He can’t control his own limbs. This must be a curse of sorts, this inescapable feeling, and he doesn’t want it to end. His breath leaps into his throat when Asra reaches up to run the tips of his fingers along his jaw.“I can give you everything you want,” Asra murmurs. “I can make you so very happy.”
Relationships: Asra & Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	toxic

Subject Seven is sulking on top of the operating table. His chained wrists are resting on top of his stomach, while his legs dangle off the side. He has been this way for almost an hour now, while Dr. Julian Devorak has been occupied with studying his notes at the desk across the room, nose to the paper, completely engrossed. But when he stands up, stretching and yawning, Subject Seven moves at last, copying the doctor’s movements and sprawling out. “God, it’s late,” Dr. Devorak groans. “I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Have you finished your notes, Doctor?”

Dr. Devorak casts a shifty glance down at the experimen on the table. His unnatural ivory hair lays in perfect curls around his face, and both piercing violet eyes stare up unblinking at his captor. “That isn’t any of your business,” Dr. Devorak replies as coldly as he can muster.

“Did the Count tell you to say that to me? It doesn’t sound like you.”

“You don’t know me, Subject Seven.”

“But you’re blushing.”

“I– I’m not–” Dr. Devorak clears his throat, in part so he can shield his face from the experiment’s knowing eyes. “We shouldn’t be speaking. It is past your curfew and you should go to bed.”

Subject Seven bolts up from the table. “I don’t want to go back to my room!” he yelps.

“Rules are rules, I’m afraid. The Count has requested–”

“I hate him,” Subject Seven snarls. “And I know you hate him too, so you shouldn’t listen to him.”

The doctor cocks an eyebrow at his experiment. To be fair, the “room” that Subject Seven is confined to is, in essence, the boiler room in the Count’s cellar, outfitted with shackles and a bedpan. Dr. Devorak wouldn’t want to go back there either. He toys with the silver chain around his own neck between his thumb and index finger. “Subject Seven, I don’t have the authority to–”

“Why don’t you call me Asra? It’s my name. I’m a person.”

“You aren’t, actually.”

“Well, you aren’t even a real doctor anyway, so there you go,” Asra grumbles, hunching over and pouting. His shirt has been unbuttoned and it hangs loose around his narrow shoulders.

Dr. Devorak sighs. “The Count has ordered me to refer to all of our experiments as Subjects, as you aren’t human. It… it isn’t personal.”

Asra looks up at the doctor’s face through his eyelashes. “He isn’t here,” he says. “You can call me by my name. It would feel a lot better than this Subject nonsense.”

“I, er, guess it wouldn’t hurt… Asra.”

A smile plays across Asra’s plush lips. He cocks his head to the side before inching closer to the edge of the table, to the doctor, but recoils when he notices the delicate silver chain around the doctor’s pale neck. “I should have known,” he growls.

“I have them around my wrists too,” Dr. Devorak adds with a cheeky smirk, pulling up one of his sleeves to show Asra the bracelet around his skinny wrist, “so you don’t get any ideas. Don’t you see how much progress we’ve made in these experiments already? Who would have known that vampires are allergic to silver of all things?”

“I suppose you think you’re clever, Doctor,” Asra snaps.

“I suppose I do. Now come on, back to your room.” Dr. Devorak tries to reach for Asra’s arm, but Asra flinches away before he can get a grip.

“Not yet! Please, not yet!”

Dr. Devorak has heard these pleas before, and he hates them every time, especially from Asra. Those violet eyes reach through his ribcage and appeal directly to his heart. The Count has commented on the weakness of his moral backbone and those insults ring in his head even as he says, “I’ll give you five minutes while I tidy up the laboratory.”

Asra relaxes at once. He hops off the table and brushes past the doctor to the desk, where ink-splattered notes and charts are strewn about. “I could help if you took these off of me,” he offers, raising his handcuffs up to the level of his eyes. 

Again, Dr. Devorak’s hand flies up to his throat, to make sure the chain is still fastened taut to his skin. “You know I can’t do that,” he answers.

“But I’ve been very good all day,” Asra continues. He bats his snowy eyelashes and takes a calculated step towards the doctor. “I answered all of your questions. I haven’t tried to bite anybody. I even let you perform a physical examination.” He lifts his hands into the air, inches away from the doctor’s nose for inspection. “And these hurt, Doctor, they do! Don’t I deserve a reward, if only for a few minutes?”

Dr. Devorak takes Asra’s hands in his own and turns them this way and that. Sure enough, blisters have begun to bubble in the place where Asra’s skin has been restrained by the cuffs. A pang of sympathy shoots through his heart at the sight of it. With a suspicious glare, and a muttered, “don’t try anything,” he withdraws a tiny key from his pocket and unlocks the cuffs.

Asra’s euphoric sigh makes him want to melt. “Thank you,” he purrs, and rubs his wrists with a blissful smile. “Nobody else would believe me… I’m so glad they put you in charge of me tonight.”

“Don’t tell the Count,” Dr. Devorak tells him with a wink.

Asra begins gathering papers one by one in his arms. “You never told me your name, Doctor,” he muses.

“I’m not supposed to tell you my name.”

“I assumed that was the case. It just doesn’t seem fair, though, does it? You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

Dr. Devorak takes care to avoid making eye contact. He’s been pulled under Asra’s spell before, and it won’t happen again. “My name is Devorak,” he says bluntly. “Dr. Devorak.”

“And your first name?” Asra presses.

“My first name isn’t your concern.”

“But it is, Doctor! You are my caretaker, and so you are my concern!” Asra hands him a stack of papers. He stops Dr. Devorak from retreating once more with a cautious hand on his arm. “Please? I would like it very much.”

Dr. Devorak is aware of the blush creeping up into his face, and he’s also aware of the new hunger alight in Asra’s eyes. “Er. I, uh, I can’t. The– the C-count–”

“You’re blushing again.”

“Asra–”

“Please,” Asra moans, and Dr. Devorak’s heartbeat increases tenfold in the span of a few seconds. “Tell me your name, and I’ll whisper it back to you as sweet as a lover. I could make you feel so very loved, Doctor, if only you gave me your name.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t control his own limbs. This must be a curse of sorts, this inescapable feeling, and he doesn’t want it to end. His breath leaps into his throat when Asra reaches up to run the tips of his fingers along his jaw.

“I can give you everything you want,” Asra murmurs. “I can make you so very happy.”

“You– y-you’re trying to trick me–!” With a monumental heaviness, Dr. Devorak turns away, trying to catch his breath as he speaks. “All vampires rely on cheap t-tricks and seduction! I’ve let you take things this far, but I’m putting my foot down!”

“But Doctor–”

“Finish tidying the papers and I’ll clean up the coffee. That’s an _order_ , Asra.”

Asra makes a tsk-ing sound, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. Dr. Devorak refuses to turn around to check that Asra is in fact doing his job. He busies himself with the tray and empty kettle, stacking drained coffee cups together and doing his best to ignore the vampire in the room. His hand leaps up to his neck to tug at the silver chain once more. “Doctor, these notes are wrong,” Asra remarks.

“I don’t need you telling me–”

“Vampires aren’t born, they’re made. For instance, I made a deal with my patron for power a few years ago, and my vampirism is the price I paid. You really should have asked me about all this.”

Dr. Devorak sighs. “Just… just, ah, keep cleaning. We will go over those in the morning.”

Papers rustle from the other side of the laboratory. “This too,” Asra continues. “My, is this what you do all day? Half of this is wrong. Why haven’t you asked me to look your notes over?”

“I didn’t think you would want to,” the doctor replies, a bit puzzled.

“Oh, I have no allegiance to other vampires, Doctor. I would be happy to help a friend.”

Dr. Devorak whips his head around so fast he almost cricks his neck. “Friend?” he barks.

“We are friends, aren’t we?” Asra inquires, eyes widening.

“I– I don’t– I’m sorry, but the Count–”

“Everything is about the blasted Count. _Hang_ the Count. You have a brain of your own, after all, and the volition to make your own choices.” Asra sets his neat stack of notes back on the desk. “Don’t you?”

Dr. Devorak bites his lip. “I don’t want to disappoint,” he admits.

“I understand. But you shouldn’t disappoint yourself in order to make others happy.”

Bemused, the doctor touches his necklace and twists it around in his fingers. “I suppose you’re right… Asra, why are you helping me? You should hate me. Or,” he continues, grinning, “do you really hate me and you’re trying to lure me into a false sense of security?”

Asra smirks too. “I don’t think you would believe me either way.”

Dr. Devorak opens his mouth to answer, but he is interrupted by a faint snap, and the broken silver chain slips from his fingers to the floor. His heart skips a beat. All his constant checking and fiddling must have weakened one of the links! His eyes dart around the room for a sign of Asra’s discarded handcuffs, desperate, acutely aware of Asra’s newfound smugness. “Asra, where– where did I put them?” he gasps. “Where did– the cuffs–”

Asra takes a few steps backward to the laboratory door, and, sneering, locks it. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Doctor.”

Dr. Devorak dives to the floor to scoop up the chain, holding it between trembling fingers up in the air. “S-stay back, I’m warning you!”

“You got another thing wrong in your notes,” Asra muses. He takes a few hypnotizing steps closer, hips swaying, smile widening as the doctor grows more and more panicked. He only stops when his face is inches from the silver chain, when he reaches up and plucks it from Dr. Devorak’s grasp. It catches the light as he turns it around in his hands. “Vampires aren’t allergic to silver,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Vampires. Aren’t allergic. To silver. I wanted to make you feel better earlier so I lied. Since you’re my friend, I thought I should let you know.”

Dr. Devorak tries to back away, but ends up tripping over his own feet and landing on the floor. Adrenaline pumps through his limbs as he scrambles back from the advancing vampire. “If you bite me now, the Count will kill you!” he squeaks. “F-for good! I’m warning you, he’s done it before!”

“I never said anything about biting anybody.” He stoops down and takes the doctor’s hand in his own, weaving his own fingers between the spindly ones in his grasp. All at once, the remaining air flies from Dr. Devorak’s lungs. “Oh, I can feel your pulse… you’re afraid, my dear Doctor. I hope it isn’t because of me.”

He licks his lips. “Julian,” he murmurs.

“Your name is Julian?”

“W-well, Ilya is my birth name, but Julian is easier for my colleagues to pronounce. I’m from Russia, not England, you see, I only came here to seek out a cure for the plague.” He gulps, trying a shaky smile. “I– I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m not allowed to give any of the experiments personal details.”

Asra presses his lips reverently to the back of Julian’s hand. “Ilya,” he whispers. “Like that?”

Julian nods. “Yes, like that. G-good.”

“Ilya is a wonderful name,” he replies. Asra pulls up Julian’s jacket sleeve to kiss his silver bracelet, lips lingering on the pulse in his wrist. His eyes flutter closed. Instead of attacking, his head is bowed, as if in prayer, against Julian’s skin.

“Asra, I– I never wanted to hurt anyone. I came to this country to help people. I never meant to get caught up in all this vampire madness, just because of the Count’s harebrained idea that the plague is blood-related. So– so what I mean is, ah, I hope you don’t blame me for your treatment here. I’m only a pawn.”

“No, lovely Ilya, I do not blame you.” Asra opens his eyes to meet Julian’s. He brings Julian’s hand with him as a prize while he crawls up to meet Julian’s face. “You have been kinder than all the others, after all, and it is the Count’s fault that I am trapped here, not yours. I won’t seek revenge against you.”

Inches, he’s mere inches away. He’s so close, Julian could lean forward just a breath and kiss him. It’s just that moving has suddenly become very difficult. As though Asra anticipated this, he brings his hand up to cup Julian’s cheek, even running his thumb along the doctor’s lower lip and smiling when the doctor shudders.

“I’ll stay,” Asra cooes.

“Stay–?”

Asra lowers his hand to Julian’s collar to undo the first button, then the next, and next, and when his delicate fingers meet Julian’s throat, Julian groans. “Ilya, I will stay with you in your quarters tonight. I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you properly for your sympathy.”

“This isn’t just some elaborate scheme to avoid sleeping in the b-boiler room?” Julian chuckles.

“Uh oh. You caught me.” Asra tilts Julian’s head back with a grin, teeth glinting, and presses a kiss to his Adam’s apple. 

“Ah– Asra, I– ngh–” 

“And I will make you so happy–!”

Julian brings one quivering hand up to his collar, gasping when he feels nothing but his own exposed neck without the sanctuary of the silver necklace. “ _No_!” He pushes Asra away even though his tremors are worse than ever and withdraws into the corner of the room. “I know what you’re d-doing! Not again! Not again, I mean it!”

Asra lunges forward to seize Julian by both wrists before he can thrash away. “I have to do this, don’t you see, Ilya?” he whimpers. “They haven’t fed me in days! I’ll die if I don’t! I wish it was someone else, but your kindness to me– Ilya, I cannot allow this opportunity to fly away!”

“You’re lying!” Julian sobs.

“I won’t kill you, I promise, you’ll heal in a few days! I’ll even tend to it myself if I have to!”

“You stay away from me, vampire! Let me go!”

A tear sparkles in one of Asra’s enchanting eyes. “I need you to be still,” he pleads. “Please, so it doesn’t hurt!”

“I would rather die than let you take my blood!”

Asra shakes his head, panting now. “I said I would make you happy. I can and I will, you have my word! I’ll do whatever you ask of me! Anything at all!”

Julian grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut to avoid the temptation of giving in again. His hair is matted with icy sweat. “Anything?” he hisses.

“Yes, anything!”

A single clear idea pierces through the fog of fear: what if Asra became his partner? No human could give the information Asra could, and he seemed willing just a few minutes ago. What medical discoveries could he learn, and how many lives could be saved with his help? Of course, that all depends on _if_ Asra wasn’t lying in the first place.

Asra traps both of Juian’s wrists in one hand so he can stroke the column of his bare throat. “I will be yours if you wish it, Ilya. Only yours, to do with what you want. You could even dissect me and I wouldn’t stop you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Julian mumbles, embarrassed. “And, I, um. Won’t dissect you.”

“When you blush, the blood rises just under the skin of your cheeks– did you know that? So close, it tinges the outermost layer of skin red, and– and Ilya, Ilya _please God I’m starving_!”

Julian opens his eyes. By now, Asra is visibly salivating, and it makes Julian second-guess his own plan. “Swear to me you’ll do as I say,” he growls, trying to sound intimidating. “S-swear that you’re in my debt! I need to hear you give me your word that if I let you bite me, you’ll owe me your life!”

“I swear, I swear! Please!”

“Then in God’s name, get it over with.” Jullian’s arms fall limp, and his head falls backward into Asra’s waiting hands to cradle.

He only has time to register a hot breath at his neck before shooting pain eclipses all other feeling. It comes too quick for him to prepare, so a yelp escapes before he can stop it, followed by an undignified groan. Mere seconds pass before the immediate pain passes. Now a dull throbbing follows, in and out like the tide as Asra drinks. He doesn’t even register the fingers winding through the curls of his hair, sliding down to the small of his back, nor the faint exhales of pleasure tickling his skin.

When Asra withdraws, Julian all but collapses to the ground, supported only by Asra’s hands. “Ilya?” he croons. “Ilya, you were wonderful! Does it hurt? Shall I clean it?”

“Mmph.”

“Would you be more comfortable in your quarters? I think I know the way. I can carry you.”

Julian opens his eyes blearily and tries to focus on Asra’s face. He didn’t think it was possible for vampires to look worried, but he has been proven wrong about many things tonight. “Asra,” he slurs.

“Yes, Ilya, I’m here, what do you need?”

“Ah… Asrahhhh…” He tilts his head to nuzzle his nose into one of Asra’s palms. Asra smells strangely familiar, and it’s comforting. “Need… Asra…”

There’s a pause. “Oh. Uh. Alright, then. I’ll just… yes, I’ll bring you to your room, and you’ll go to sleep, and you’ll wake in the morning and you’ll be fine.” Dainty arms lift the doctor up into the air with no effort at all.

“You… you’ll stay… won’t you? Like you said?”

“Yes, Ilya, I’ll stay with you for as long as you wish. I am indebted to you.”

Julian wishes he had the strength to open his eyes again, to fight his instincts and hold Asra in his arms, but exhaustion is getting the better of him. Darkness is already gnawing at the edges of his weary mind. “Asra… don’t tell the Count?”

A pair of warm lips bless his forehead. “I won’t,” Asra whispers.


End file.
